


Whiskey Lullaby

by onanotherworld



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, I'm really sorry, M/M, Sadness, Sorry Not Sorry, Suicide, Woops, tears will flow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 08:01:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onanotherworld/pseuds/onanotherworld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And all through those years, the willow sang a whiskey lullaby.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whiskey Lullaby

“I'm sorry, Grantaire, this just won't work for me.”

 

***

 

It'd been months since that fateful night, where Enjolras had stopped the only good thing in his life. Months,of Grantaire drinking his pain away, retreating farther and farther into the shell of tequila shots. The others they tried so, so hard to pull his life back together, but that hadn't worked either. He just sat, drinking whiskey and stronger stuff, staring at the pictures of his marble Apollo and painting furiously in the midst of drunken sobbing. Jehan was the most affected. He'd sit and cry at Grantaire’s hospital bed, begging him to try and get better, to get over him. Grantaire would agree, promise to try, to calm Jehan down. The rest of them saw the spark had gone out from his eyes, and the shadows that had always been under the surface becoming more apparent every day. Eponine was angry. She hated Enjolras with all her worth, until Grantaire begged her not to. He said he wanted Enjolras never to be hated. Eponine couldn't resist his sad, haunted eyes. Grantaire kept drinking, to drown the pain that was welling up. 

 

He drank and drank and drank.

 

The shadows grew larger and larger until he was a shadow of his former self. His arms were twigs, and each rib was visible on his once- muscular torso. Jehan begged him to eat, to gain weight, to live, but Grantaire had lost the will. Jehan was eventually dragged away by Courfeyrac, crying against the other man’s shoulder as they left Grantaire’s apartment. One night, it seemed, it had got too much for Grantaire, and he put that bottle against his head, and pulled the trigger. This time life was shorter and its strength bigger than the strength it took for him to get up when it knocked him down.

 

He left a note for his friends to find.

 

_I’ll love him to the day I die._

 

***

 

The funeral was a quiet affair, Eponine weeping softly on Combeferre’s shoulder, and Jehan openly sobbing, harsh gut wrenching sobs. He was buried underneath a willow tree, and when he was put in the ground, the wind hissed quietly through the willow, singing a whiskey lullaby.

 

***

 

The rest of the Les Amis never knew how much Enjolras blamed himself, and he kept a picture of Grantaire on his apartment mantelpiece, no matter where he moved to. His friends didn't comment. Eponine had to forgive him because that is what Grantaire had wanted. But Enjolras didn't believe he deserved forgiveness, and every year, on the date of Grantaire’s death, after the rest of them had left, he cried at the foot of his grave repeating over and over how sorry he was. Enjolras was most sorry that he couldn't tell Grantaire that he still loved him.

 

All through those years, the willow still sang.

 

Enjolras tried to hide the whiskey on his breath, and tried so hard to keep up the front of being the solid stone marble leader. But it was cracking at the edges. His passion was his only safety. For hours he'd rant about the inequalities between the rich and the poor, but he saw Grantaire’s face every time he blinked. Each time he saw Grantaire’s face, he was at the same time his happiest and his most melancholy.

 

The whiskey problem grew and grew and grew.

 

He never stopped believing him his cause, only stopped believing in himself. The rest of the Les Amis tried to bolster him with their own belief, but they could see Enjolras’ marble facade shattering each time they saw him. They didn't mention it, they thought that Enjolras would like it better this way.

 

Except, when he was sobbing those gut wrenching sobs alone in his flat, no one came. No one knew he still cared so much. They were all together, each half made a whole. But Enjolras’ other half was gone.

 

It was a weight he carried for a long time. 

 

Then there was a time when even Enjolras’ formidable strength failed. He took that bottle, put it too his head, and pulled the trigger. This time life was shorter and its strength bigger than the strength it took for him to get up when it knocked him down. He was found clutching Grantaire’s picture for dear life.

 

He left a note for his friends to find.

 

_I’m coming, Grantaire._

 

***

 

Enjolras’ funeral was a quiet affair, and they buried him next to Grantaire beneath the willow.

 

This time it was Combeferre weeping on to Eponine’s shoulder, and Courfeyrac sobbing those gut wrenching sobs.

 

All the while, the willow sang a whiskey lullaby.

**Author's Note:**

> whoops, sorry guys
> 
>  
> 
> But anyway, I hope you enjoyed it!!
> 
>  
> 
> Check out some of my other works if you lot want to 'cause that'd be great ;)


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